


The After

by Bre



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, POV Frank Castle, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre
Summary: Post TPS2. The after comes out of nowhere.





	The After

**Author's Note:**

> I should absolutely be writing something else, but then this happened.
> 
> I have so many feelings about Karen and Frank's scenes in 2x11, especially when he woke up from his nightmare about Maria and the kids and immediately started telling her about it, about how much he wants to live in the happy memories. This is also jump-started by Karen telling him he can't live his life loving people in his dreams, and then [the angel parallel](https://karenpage.tumblr.com/post/182167127144/angels-watching-over-frank) threw me right over a cliff of feels.

He isn’t sure when it started.

Days bleed into weeks, giving way to months. Time loses substance when all he has is the endless rain of gunfire, the splatter of red, the hunt that keeps his finger on the trigger. There’s the before, greeting him when he closes his eyes, always just beyond his reach, and there’s the in-between, the darkness, the punishment…

The after comes out of nowhere.

Blood drips on cold concrete.

He wrenches the key in the lock in a quick jerk, the metal slipping between his fingers. The lock gives way easily and the knob twists with a smear of red. He kicks the door open with a grunt, grimacing under the weight of his bag hanging off his shoulder. The bullet lodged in his arm grates against bone, hot and painful, fraying half-dead nerves. He grits his teeth against it, limping into the room, shoving the door closed behind him.

The assholes he goes after know he’s out there now, know he’s coming, and they are more prepared.

It’s not enough, though. It’s never enough, not for him, not for what he brings.

What he’ll always bring.

The whisky burns as he tears through scar tissue digging the bullet out, teeth slicing into his tongue as he stitches up the ragged hole. He lays down with gunpowder in his nose and copper filling his mouth. He needs a few hours before he tracks down the fuckers operating an underground trafficking ring somewhere in Brooklyn.

He closes his eyes, sleep coming hard and fast.

The dream waits for him.

He doesn’t know when his nightmares started fading, when the shots stopped finding their targets. At some point, instead of waking up with blood and screams in his ears, the last thing he sees is Lisa and Frank Jr. laughing, Maria’s smile, the carousal before everything went to shit. The gunfire stops coming, the monsters stay in the dark where they belong, and his family is safe, drifting into a white light, secure in a way he couldn’t give them before…

 _Peace_.

The dream always starts the same.

_Dark, cold, blood on his hands, finger curled around a trigger, knife in his other hand. He knows exactly what he needs to do, what he will always do, who he is. He’s ready, waiting… Then the warmth comes. It’s slow and easy, unfurling inside him as much as it wraps around him. He can’t see it, not yet, but he knows it’s there and it’s…_

_Comforting_

_“Frank.”_

_There she is, a figure in white. She’s enveloped in light and it’s so bright it burns his eyes but he can’t look away, not anymore. He doesn’t want to. That’s where the warmth is._

_He reaches for it._

_A face takes shape. He stares at it, trying to see who watches over him, the angel that never leaves his side, carrying him through every day, never letting him fall, even when the world does its best to shove him six feet under. He waits for the salvation he never thought would come. But it’s here now, it’s right here…_

_She stands before him, barefoot, draped in white, a delicate white rose in her hands, a soft smile on her lips._

_“Come home, Frank,” she whispers. “Come home.”_

His eyes snap open.

The shitty motel ceiling greets him, but he doesn’t see the cracked plaster or water stains.

He sees _her_.

Franks slowly sits up, grimacing when pain lances through his shoulder. But he doesn’t stop, swinging his feet off the bed. His clothes are still stained with red, his skin tight with dried blood that isn’t only his, but none of that matters, none of that stops him as he reaches for his phone, thumbing it on.

He never deleted her number, he couldn’t bring himself to.

It rings, once, twice, three times…

“Hello?”

Frank closes his eyes. It’s her voice. His angel. Some part of him knows it always has been.

“Hello?” she repeats, and then her voice quiets, so soft it’s barely audible. “Frank?”

The warmth from his dream comes to life inside him, spiraling out, and he opens his eyes.

“Hey, Karen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.
> 
>  
> 
> [Original Tumblr Post](http://dust2dust34.tumblr.com/post/182171852724/the-after-kastle-post-tps2)


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